


quietly it settles

by esama



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Domestic, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-11 02:11:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11139108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: What do you do after the world is saved, your revenge is complete and you've grieved your losses?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed

"Oh. You're... here."

Vincent looks up from the newspaper he'd been staring and then looks down again. "You mind?"

"Nah, it's fine," Cloud says, scratching the back of his head. "Just a little unexpected, is all. Something wrong?"

Vincent considers the words for a moment. Is there something wrong? Not... not necessarily. And yet, maybe. "Nothing to be worried about," he says finally and turns the page. He's not actually reading - most of the articles are about events in Edge and they hold next to no interest to him, aside from the latest stunt Rufus Shinra was trying to pull maybe. Trying to become the Mayor of Edge, now.

"Hmm," Cloud answers, looking him up and down. "Well," he says and then shrugs before stomping over to the small kitchen corner, to carry the purchases to the fridge. "If you're planning to stay, tell me now. I don't have enough food for two here."

Vincent is quiet for a moment. Normally he wouldn't stay. Normally, this would be a few hours visit maybe, a day perhaps at most, and no more than that. Normally, he'd be here and gone as soon as his business was done. Normally, though, normally he had a concrete business to conduct.

He doesn't this time. Just... just a feeling.

"I can contribute," he offers. "To food."

Though, now that he thinks about it, he isn't entirely sure he can. Money for food is usually not that big of a concern for him, as usually he stays out in the wilds and eats whatever he has at hand... so he doesn't exactly go out his way to carry money around. And he hadn't bothered with things like bank accounts in decades.

"It's fine," Cloud says, opening the fridge door and unloading his purchases inside. Mostly beer and microwave meals, judging by the looks of it. "Money's not issue - I just usually don't get more than I need day to day because I don't even know if I'll be here tomorrow... so I don't have much in way of extra around the house."

Vincent digests that for a moment and then folds the newspaper. Nothing interesting in it. "Still running deliveries."

"Mm," Cloud shrugs and then closes the fridge door. "It's something to do."

Vincent watches him as he puts the bag away, how he considers the kitchen corner. It's not much, just fridge, sink, a small portable stove sitting on the side of the sink. Not... precisely glamorous for one of the most well known, wealthiest men on the planet.

There'd been a time when Cloud lived lavishly. For almost two years he'd lived in the former Shinra villa in Costa del Sol. He'd made it into gossip rags, he'd been the most eligible bachelor of the year, people had always been after him for a scandalous scoop, hoping to spy him with a paramour...

Vincent honestly hadn't been surprised at all by how fast Cloud has grown tired of it. All that wealth and fortune and fame, and Cloud had instead gone to this little hole in the wall flat in Edge.

It's not big enough for guests, Vincent knows. there's one bedroom, the bathroom is barely big enough for it's small tub, and the pathetic little kitchen corner is in the living room, hardly big enough for any sort of cooking at all, never mind entertaining guests. Cloud is living so far below his means lot of people find it mildly insulting.

All in all it's not that different from the guestroom Cloud used to have in Seventh Heaven... except this place is by Cloud's choice. This is place he went out his way to get for himself. Why, Vincent can only guess. Some small wish for independence and freedom maybe, though coming from Cloud...

"What?" Cloud asks.

Vincent shakes his head and looks away. "I'd like to stay a while."

Cloud shrugs. "Alright. I'll get you a mattress or something."

* * *

Edge has changed both very little and quite a bit over the years. The place looks and feels the same it did in the beginning - even after all this time, the people are still ShinRa's and Sephiroth's victims, and they carry their hardships with them where ever they go. Edge is still makeshift bid for survival, a ramshackle attempt more than a true, concentrated effort of living.

But now, years later, it seems more by choice than necessity. The thrown-together look of everything has become a style, and though newer buildings had better construction materials and budgets and they do look better, they also have that air of being hard won. Triumphs of trials.

Vincent can respect that, though he can't say he understands it. Everywhere else, people have rebuilt from ground up, or they have reverted into the Old Ways. In Kalm all the new buildings look like they were build century ago, and the way they're building in North Corel makes it look like ShinRa never existed at all, never mind leaving such an impact in the region. Junon has embraced its re-awakened coastal culture and thrown everything it has into coastal economy too, and if they could they'd probably turn the Canon into a fish at this point...

In contrast Edge stands as a reminder and testimony to the things they'd lost - to the harm ShinRa did. It doesn't even try to rise above it, not really - instead it looks like it was just last week that the Meteor almost came down, like the rebuilding is still slowly coming along.

It's been years and Edge refuses to recover. It's already one of the biggest cities on the planet, not quite as bid as Midgar used to be, but growing fast, and it refuses to heal or grow or better itself. It's a battle scar, and it refuses to be anything else.

It's a type of resistance, Vincent supposes. And if people of Edge are something, it's resistant.

* * *

Cloud Strife is, and will probably always be, the strongest human being to ever have lived. Even now he could lift buildings if he wanted to, even know he could kill people with mere flick of his fingers. Even now, he radiates Mako and Mana in a way that makes him seem... more than human.

He lives a quiet life, though. With the transport industry long since recovered, he doesn't have that much work anymore, his delivery business isn't nearly as busy as it used to be. Mostly he seems to spend his days in quiet, either aimlessly wandering around Edge or the ruins of Midgar, or tending to the pond and the flowers of the long since collapsed Church... or he stays inside, reading, watching television, not doing anything.

His life is slow, Vincent observes, slowed down to a crawling hours and days, intermittently broken by requests for help, or the rare high priority, high risk delivery to another continent or something of the sort. One would think the man is bored.

Cloud doesn't seem to be. He makes instant food, drinks a beer or two a night and lounges about on the small balcony, watching the shadow of Midgar's ruins hanging over Edge.

He's reticent and all but retired... but he seems content.

"What?" Cloud asks when Vincent has looked at him too long.

"Do you miss it?" Vincent asks.

They're sitting on the floor of Cloud's living room - the couch has to be pushed aside to make room for Vincent's mattress and in the end they'd stopped putting it back in place, leaving it sitting in awkward place next to the wall. It leaves an open, empty space in the front of the balcony door that should seem desolate, but somehow ends up inviting.

The morning light warms it, making it apparently ideal for Cloud to read in, and in the evening they can sit there and almost see the stars over Midgar.

Cloud looks down at the can of beer in his hand, turning it and reading the label. "Sometimes," he admits. "But I'm happier with those days in the past."

Vincent nods in quiet, understanding agreement.

They'd had purpose once. They'd been people with goals and strife and meaning, once. And with each year it's easier to remember the strength and volition it gave them - and forget the uncertainty and pain. Logically they know things are better now. Logically they know things were bad then.

"I don't like beer," Vincent says, looking at the can in his hands. He's taken off his glove and the aluminium feels cool to his fingers.

"I'll buy you some wine, then," Cloud says, and looks at him. For a moment he looks like he might ask.

But in the end he doesn't and they spend the rest of the evening in comfortable silence.

* * *

When Cloud is out on a delivery or the rare monster hunting mission, Vincent goes to Seventh Heaven. It's different these days - more a cafe and a restaurant than a bar it used to be, more comfortable rest stop than rough hewn sanctuary.

Construction workers come there for their lunch and there are people there just to get their daily dose of caffeine. Tifa, Vincent notes, has invested in some state of the art coffee machines, which chug along at comfortable hum and fill the whole place with smooth scent of freshly brewed coffee.

"Here you go," she says as he sits by the counter - because the place still holds onto its roots, and has a counter. "Double espresso with double cream."

"Thank you," Vincent says and accepts the cup. He looks up at Tifa, notices the glow of her skin and the imperfections under her eyes, the wear and tear of years and contentedness of being exactly where she wants to be, and then he looks down again.

"Cloud's out again?" she asks with the studious casualness of person who tries not to be too interested.

"Delivery to north continent," Vincent answers. "He'll be out for couple of days." then he considers it for a moment. "I can... pay for my own tab in the mean while."

"Don't worry about it, Vincent," Tifa laughs and leans her elbows onto the counter, smiling at him. "Even if Cloud didn't have a tab a mile long here, I wouldn't charge you."

Vincent looks at the cup, the swirl of cream. There'd been a period of time, just little after Seventh Heaven started serving as much coffee as it did alcohol, when Tifa marketed the place by doing coffee art. She'd never been exceptionally good at it, but she'd learned couple of cute illustrations she could easily do with cream - and she's still doing them.

There's a heart drawn in cream on Vincent's espresso.

"I have been thinking about... employment," Vincent admits, carefully extracting the spoon from the coffee, trying to avoid damaging the illustration.

"A job? You?" She asks with surprise. "That's... interesting. What kind of job have you been thinking of getting?"

That's the thing. They are the Heroes Who Saved the Planet - several times now, even. Any employment any of them could reasonably think of, they were bound to get if not for any reason then because of the fame and publicity it would bring their employers.

Hence why most of them are self employed or unemployed. Except perhaps for Yuffie, who technically works for her father now. Cid and Barret both have their own companies, Nanaki does whatever he does in Cosmo Canyon which technically can't really be called employment. Tifa runs her own establishment and Cloud runs a delivery business, albeit a not very busy one.

Vincent, for many years, has done... nothing. And to be honest he hasn't really felt the lack of employment. He hadn't needed money to survive, after all, and what services he could offer are largely unnecessary these days. He could, perhaps, do monster extermination like Cloud occasionally does, but...

Vincent lifts the coffee and takes a sip of it. It's strong and has enough sugar to give normal man high blood pressure. Tifa knows how to make it just right.

She tilts her head, leaning her cheek onto her knuckles. She doesn't have calluses there anymore; the skin of her fingers has softened in disuse over the years, both above and below. "I understand, you know. Cloud is the same."

"Is he," Vincent answers, though he knows he is. That's why... that's why he sought to stay with Cloud, rather than at Seventh Heaven where there was infinitely more space.

"He told me once that it wasn't restlessness," she says and looks away. "Or dissatisfaction. It took me a while to believe him, but I think understand now. There's just nothing there for you now, right?"

Their quests are long since over, losses recovered from and grievances avenged. Time won't bring back what they lost. It won't bring back what they had or what they found when they were on those quests, going after those revenges.

It had taken Vincent longer than Cloud to get there, but she's right. He's done grieving for his life, for Lucrecia, done blaming ShinRa. Time has passed. And there's... nothing there, anymore.

"Do you have any suggestions?" Vincent asks.

Tifa smiles at him and it's not sad. It's something nostalgic that looks like it might be sad, but it isn't. Fondness, edging on the fringes of loss. "I think that's something you need to figure out for yourself, to be honest. I was never like either of you. I never felt that drive."

And so, she'd never lost it either.

Vincent nods and drinks his coffee. He's not disappointed - he had no expectations, really.

But it would have been nice for once to get the answer just handed to him.

* * *

Cloud comes back eventually, with new stains on his trousers and new dirt under the soles of his boots, but otherwise unchanged. Vincent watches from the side how he washes his clothes and then sits back to observe Cloud doing regular maintenance on his motorcycle.

It's all almost ritualistic, how Cloud goes about it. Beat by beat, he settles back in after a long trip. Throw clothes into the washer, have a microwave meal, grab a beer, and then a box of tools. Cloud changes the oil of his motorcycle probably more often than is strictly speaking necessary, and his motorcycle more endures than requires maintenance at this point, that's how often Cloud goes about it. It's one very well maintained piece of machinery.

It's like meditation, probably. Cloud loses himself into the well rehearsed motions of the work, and he seems to want for nothing.

Vincent sits by the wall of the ramshackle apartment building, watching him from the shade. Once, Midgar had been in constant shadow of heavy blanket of clouds, as Planet tried to cover the injury, tried to scab over the wound. Now Edge is a scar, and sun shines on it, almost relentless in its brightness.

It doesn't seem like a place he would like to stay in. Vincent isn't overly fond of sunlight, his eyes are too sensitive to it, his skin burns easily now, and even with his physiology wearing leathers and capes in the dry heat of Edge is uncomfortable.

Before, less than year ago, he wouldn't have stayed here. Even Kalm is better than Edge - it gets sun, yes, but not to the extend of Edge, and at least in Kalm there was wind to cool the air. It came down from the mountains, along with the little mountain brooks and rivers, that humidified the air, made it bearable. In Kalm, air is fresh. In Edge, it's dry and oppressive.

And yet, Vincent doesn't want to leave.

"Hey, hand me the spanner?" Cloud waves an oil stained hand from under the motorcycle, and Vincent gets up to get it. He crouches down beside the blond man, his once leader, and watches how Cloud works. The man's pulled on an oil stained shirt, the one he always wears when doing maintenance, and it's leaving oil stains on his stomach where the shirt rides up.

Cloud tans in the oppressive heat of Edge, which considering that he's from Nibelheim is curious. Tifa doesn't tan in the slightest, she's almost as pale as Vincent is, but Cloud is almost bronzed. Zack Fair's artificially transferred genes, perhaps.

Sephiroth, Vincent recalls vaguely, was as pale as death in all his forms.

Cloud drops the bolt and curses as it rolls away. Vincent reaches over him to pick it up on his talons, dropping it on Cloud's belly.

"Thanks," the blond says, picking it up blindly and leaving more oil stains on his shirt and then going back to work.

Vincent gets up and goes back into the shadows, to watch him.

* * *

At some point, Vincent starts picking up after Cloud. It's not that Cloud leaves much of a mess - he doesn't have enough possessions to make a mess. But there is the occasional beer can or dropped sock, and Cloud only does house cleaning once in month or two, when the dust becomes actually visible.

The meagre amount of mess doesn't bother Vincent - but it's something to do, to put the empty can into the recycle, or to pick up the discarded clothes and put them into laundry. After a while, he starts doing the dishes unprompted, he figures out how to work the washing machine, and hangs the laundry after wards.

"You don't have to," Cloud says.

"Mm," Vincent agrees, folding the clean clothes meticulously, piece by piece. It takes him a few tries to get it right, to get the creases out - but he has no hurry anywhere, so he takes the time to do it right.

"Vincent," Cloud says.

Vincent looks up. Cloud is leaning to the wall that separates the living room from the entrance hall, just between the little kitchenette in the corner and his own small bedroom. His arms are folded, muscles still so well defined that he looks like he's maybe starving a little, and he looks...

Vincent waits, waits for him to ask

Cloud frowns a little at him. Then he looks up, at the ceiling lamp. "You wanna go eat out tonight?" he then offers. "Not at Seventh Heaven, some other place."

Place where they wouldn't be required to make small talk with the owner - where it would be just them, eating out.

 Vincent looks down at the shirt he's holding - Cloud's shirt. He himself doesn't have much in way of clothing, aside from what he wears. His leather trousers and jacket can't exactly be washed, and if he'd put his cloak into the washer, he'd probably get back only its shredded remains.

"I don't have clothes," Vincent says, instead of saying no, instead of saying that he'd prefer to stay inside. Stay... home.

"Let's go buy you some, then," Cloud says and pushes off the wall.

After a beat of hesitation, Vincent gets up too. He puts the laundry away, before they go.

* * *

Cloud would finance Vincent a whole wardrobe change if he asked for it, and it wouldn't make a dent in the man's funds. Vincent refuses it, and he refuses the overeager help of the clothing store's sales clerk too, who sees them and then sees Gil signs, and in the end Cloud watches with something like amusement while Vincent selects clothing.

Vincent doesn't get a whole wardrobe change – but he does get something to change into. A two sets of black slacks, socks and shoes to match, a dress shirt, a tie, and after moment of thought, a black jacket that reaches mid thigh. He tries it all in the store's changing booth, pulling on gloves over his mangled and healthy hands and then stares at his reflection for a moment. Then he takes his bandana off too, letting his hair fall down to his face.

It's the strangest thing that he doesn't look like a Turk. He doesn't look anything like a Turk.

Quietly Vincent folds his leathers, bundles it all up in the ragged red cloak, sets the golden gauntlet on top of it. He would need to ask a bag for the shoes, now that he's changed to dress shoes instead. Cloud is waiting for him when he pulls the curtain aside, and his eyebrows lift slightly at the change of clothes.

"Nice," is his only comment, though the way he looks up and down speaks volumes.

Vincent runs a hand over the tie and hums. It is nice, he decides.

There's little less awed staring by bystanders when they leave the store, Vincent carrying his new and old clothes, and feeling a little less like he's stuck in his own past.

* * *

The business of eating at a restaurant doesn't turn out all that exciting. They get a table by the window and order wine and eat steak and they don't talk much. The silence isn't as comfortable as they're used to, though. The quality is subtly different, altered by the restaurant's atmosphere. It feels… official and secretive.

Vincent looks at Cloud over his wine glass and wonders. There's part of him that is waiting, still waiting, always waiting, for something he can't name. The next thing, good or bad, that would change the status quo. The rise of Sephiroth, the discovery of a new organisation looking to take advantage of people, development of new, life changing technology. There's always something that alters their lives.

Or there had been. But Sephiroth hasn't risen in years, Rufus Shinra has settled onto his tracks and old tricks of politics, Reeve has finally figured out what he wants with WRO and is doing semi good job at it. The world is… calmer now.

According to Bugenhagen, the Planet is on the mend. Maybe that has something to do with it. The Planet is on the mend, the monster populations are shrinking down, things are calming down. Maybe it has an effect on the people too, Lifestream reaching inside them, installing its calm to them. Vincent wouldn't be surprised if it affects them stronger, Cloud and him, considering what swam in their veins.

Cloud looks back at him and arches his eyebrows in silent query. Usually, Vincent would look away, avoid the purposeless eye contact, avoid the quiet challenge.

He doesn't look away.

He's still waiting, and something about the look Cloud gives him makes his heart beat harder. It's a bit like jealousy, because Cloud no longer feels the urgency that Vincent now knows so intimately thanks to its sudden, ringing absence. It's a bit like want too, because Cloud is content and Vincent isn't. He thought he was… but he isn't.

"I've been thinking about getting bigger apartment," Cloud says and looks away, at his own glass of wine. He doesn't even like wine, but he got some anyway. "With two bedrooms. What do you think?"

It's not even subtle.

_Should I invest in this or is it temporary. Are you staying or are you going to eventually leave._

Vincent looks down and takes a breath, scenting the wine. It's… rich, by post-Meteor standards. Ten years old maybe, from Mideel vineyards. He releases the breath and then looks at Cloud, sitting there in reasonably nice clothes, clean jacket and button up shirt. He looks strange. He looks like an adult.

"Bigger kitchen would be nice," Vincent finally admits. "I… used to cook, a little. I have been thinking of trying my hand at it again."

Cloud stills for a moment in the act of lifting his glass. Then, resolute, he lifts it and drinks. "Alright," he says, a little unsure. "Two bedrooms and bigger kitchen. We'll… see what we'll find, then."

Vincent nods and swallows and neither of them dare to say anything else for the rest of the dinner for the risk of disturbing the new reality settling over them.

* * *

Their new apartment has bigger kitchen, separated from the living area by a kitchen island. It has two bedrooms that face each other, a bathroom with enough space to turn around even with the washing machine and dryer, and a balcony they can set up a small table and set of chairs to.

Vincent stands in the kitchen for a long while after they've officially moved in and he just breathes in the scent of the room, trying to get used to how different it is from Cloud's old place. No mould here, no rust – this building is new, post-Meteor. It's nice – and probably nowhere as cheap as Cloud's previous place. He feels a little guilty about that, for a moment.

Then Cloud is there, his hand on Vincent's back just for a moment as he steps around him to get a drink from the fridge. Vincent exhales and it settles.

The clothes he'd worn from his grave to here are packed away in his closet, sealed in a plastic bag, inside a cardboard box. He'll look them sometime, he know, he'll take them out and he'll remember his history and the pain he endured and the direction it once gave him. Maybe one day he could even come to terms with it.

Right now, though, he's here.

He's just here.

"I'm thinking spaghetti for dinner," Vincent says, half recalling that he used to like it when he'd been younger.

"Sounds good," Cloud says, opening a can of beer with a snick and taking a drink. "I can go to the store for you if you need something."

"No," Vincent says and looks at him. "I already have all I need."


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm home," Cloud calls, toeing his boots off at the entrance hall and almost dropping the shopping bag he's carrying. They're no answer from the apartment but he can sense Vincent's presence there, a quiet glow of Mako, and his shoes are by the door.

He finds Vincent asleep in the living room, fast asleep not quite curled up in Cloud's old couch. How Vincent makes naps look dignified when he has the tenancy of tucking his hands and legs in, but somehow he manages it, looking more like scene of some sort of strange aristocratic painting rather than a man asleep.

Cloud doesn't want to wake him – but of course as he walks past him on his way to the kitchen, Vincent wakes up, opening his eyes silently and looking up without moving. "Did you buy eggs?" he asks.

"Mm-hmm," Cloud agrees. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

Vincent doesn't answer, merely gets up and follows him to the kitchen. While cloud goes for the fridge, Vincent goes for the coffee maker, going through the motions of loading it up. Cloud glances at him and then concentrates on putting the purchases away.

The silence is comfortable. It still strikes him occasionally just how easy it is, just being quiet around Vincent.

As Cloud puts the shopping bag away, wrapping it up so that it'd be ready for another trip to the store, Vincent reaches for the cups. "Want one?" the man asks.

"Sure," Cloud agrees and then sits down by the kitchen table, to watch him. Vincent is in his more homely clothes – just black slacks and dark red button up shirt, with no tie – and he still looks weirdly fancy. Aristocratic. Which considering that for the most of the time Cloud has known him the man has gone around looking like a vampire is a little funny, actually.

Vincent pours the coffee – double shot for himself with cream and straight for Cloud. He then carries both of the cups over to the kitchen table and hands Cloud his. It's one of his older cups, a gift where you can still barely see the painted words, World's Best Clod on the side. Denzel to this day swears it was misspelled purely by accident.

"Thanks," Cloud says, wondering if he should give Denzel a call. It had been a while and... And these days Denzel doesn't call as much as he used to, and since Cloud rarely calls anyone... it's just been a while.

Vincent sits down and sips his cream covered, over sugared disaster of a coffee while Cloud sips his. Vincent makes coffee way too bitter and strong to Cloud's tastes but there's no point in complaining. Caffeine is caffeine.

And he quietly suspects, just by the evidence of what Vincent likes to eat and drink, that the man might have reduced sense of taste these days, and that's just not something you point out.

They drink their respective coffees in silence, and that's enough.

* * *

Later, after Cloud has spent the afternoon going over the fusion sword, oiling and maintaining it more to pass the time than because of any actual need – it's been couple of weeks since he'd used it – they sit down to watch the evening fall together. Cloud nurses a pint of freshly poured beer, while Vincent idly stirs the wine glass in his hand, keeping the liquid in lazy motion.

They have a television, a radio, they even have a small collection of movies, some of them even good ones... but the times when they actually utilise any of them are few and far between. Cloud hadn't been much of a TV watcher before Vincent had parked himself into his life, and with Vincent there just doesn't seem to be point.

The silence isn't as loud as it used to be.

They also have a pair of armchairs and a fairly comfortable couch, Cloud thinks while casting them a look, and yet somehow they always migrate to sit on the floor. Like his previous apartment, their new one has a balcony with a view towards Midgar – chosen partially because of it, probably, though they never actually talked about it. They have table and chairs on the said balcony too... but again, they fail to utilize them.

The floor isn't exactly comfortable, and the view from this floor isn't quite as good as it was from the previous apartment, and yet for some reason... that's where they sit in evenings. Cloud is leaning against the back rest of the couch while Vincent sits with his back to the wall, one leg propped up, his elbow resting on it, and for a long stretches of time they don't talk, they just sit and drink.

Taking a gulp of his beer, Cloud wonders about it. They used to be men of, well, if not action then at least of reaction. They used to do stuff, they used to be mobile, active, they used to go out there and get things done. Times might be more peaceful now, but they hadn't changed that much, had they? Sitting around, being quiet...

It still strikes him so odd, that they can just do this.

Turning his attention to his pint of beer, Cloud eyes the bubbles rising along the side and smothers the old, confused bitterness about it all. When he'd lived in Seventh Heaven, this.... this wasn't at all how it was.

"Mm," Vincent hums suddenly, lifting his head.

"What?" Cloud asks, trying not to feel the ever present expectation of, here we go; here is where it goes wrong.

"Shooting star," Vincent says and nods at the balcony door.

The door is ajar, the dry air of Edge wafting in slowly, and over the ramshackle buildings of Edge, Midgar looms above them, a dark misshapen shadow of the skeletal remains of once great empire. Above it there is the darkening night sky, hint of red in the distance where the sun is setting behind the broken supports and spine-like metal beams of Midgar – and sure enough, there is a streak of light over the ruin city.

"Make a wish," Cloud offers, half smiling, and lifts his beer.

"Mm," Vincent says again, leaning his head back against the wall as he watches the streak vanish. Cloud's eyes are drawn to him, to the pale line of his throat that seems to glow in the darkness, before trailing down, to the open first button of his shirt, to the hint of collar bones, and down.

Vincent is wearing black linen gloves, as he always is, but one of his shirt sleeves – the right one – is pulled up, bundled above his elbow. He's resting the said, bare, elbow on his bent knee with the half empty wine glass hanging from his gloved fingers and Cloud realizes something.

It's the most bared he's ever seen Vincent.

Vincent is usually covered from neck to toe, shirt sleeves carefully down, cuffs carefully buttoned, gloves covering his fingers. With his hair down, most of his face ends up covered too more often than not – though Cloud can recall times when Vincent would pull his hair back, tie it at the neck, when he was working in the kitchen. Now his hair spills loose over his shoulders, the black fading into the dark red of his shirt in the dark living room, which only makes the bared skin glow that much brighter.

His eyes glow too when the dim light from outside falls on him, a liquid gleam of red in a visage otherwise drawn nearly black and white in the dim light.

Ah, Cloud thinks and looks away, easing the sudden dryness of his throat by lifting his beer and drinking deep.

Time find a job.

* * *

Cloud generally can find something to do if he really wants to. There's no desperate call for private delivery services anymore – but he is who he is, and even years after Meteor and Sephiroth, people tend to still know him. If word goes out that he's looking for something to do, people will inevitably find something they want him to do, just to have him specifically doing it.

It makes him feel a little cheap, sort of like he's maybe cheating, to accept jobs that he knows perfectly well come to his way only because of his supposed fame. Talking to the people who want to hire him for reasons like that is always uncomfortable too, but...

Job's a job. And sometimes he just wants to do a job, just wants to work.

It's a handy excuse, he thinks, recalling arguments with Tifa, with Denzel, even with Marlene when she grew up and finally saw through all his bullshit with. The delivery service has always been an excuse to run, according to all of them, and they're right. It's not like he needs the money.

But maybe he does need the excuse.

So, he takes the job delivering a box of barely 3kg in weight and bare 20 x 20 cm in size across the continent at a price that's both beneath his and above the customers judging by the way they go pale. Wondering if he should adjust his pricing again – travelling used to be lot more dangerous back when he'd started and deliveries were priced accordingly. Since then, and with the re-establishing of the postal services, the price of mail has been steadily going down. Having trains and trucks does that.

Single man delivering a single item isn't really a thing anymore. His is probably the only business of the sort still running.

Well, he'd think about it later, Cloud decides and packs the box away. With the paperwork signed and everything settled, he checks his gear and rations and then takes out his PHS.

Vincent answers on the first ring, as he always does.

"Delivery?" the man asks, his deep voice distorted by the connection.

"Yeah. Shouldn't take long, day or two at most," Cloud says and waits, still waits, for Vincent to complain about it.

Vincent doesn't though. "Alright," he simply says and there is a beat of silence. "Is there anything else?"

Cloud almost laughs. How is this so much easier and yet so much harder than it was with Tifa? "Nah," he says, running a hand over his neck. "I'll see you when I come back."

"Mm," Vincent says, waits another beat, and then he just hangs up on him, just like that. No expectations, no accusations, no demands, nothing, he doesn't even bid him safe trip.

Cloud chuckles, looking at the phone, at Vincent's number still on the screen, telling him that the call lasted barely thirty seconds. It's actually on the longer side of their calls – usually they barely make it to fifteen seconds.

Tifa used to talk his ear off. Still does, when she calls him, though these days it's rarer, once a week maybe, rather than several times a day. Tifa used to carry the conversations, right through his silence and awkwardness, through his difficulties of putting into word what he... couldn't even begin to explain. And then Tifa would stop and wait and then demand, won't you please just _say_ something.

Vincent doesn't. Cloud thinks with something like despair that Vincent probably never will.

And Cloud doesn't know what to do with that.

* * *

There was time, which Cloud barely even remembers now, when he used to get motion sick. He doesn't remember it as much as he remembers people making fun of it, laughing and then offering him something for the nausea, telling him not to think about or walk it off. He thinks one of those people might've been Zack.

He doesn't get sick now, but the memory still lingers and occasionally rears up somewhere in the back of his head... just breathe Lil Cloudy, it'll pass.

Cloud breathes, wind tearing at his hair as he races across the plains with Fenrir's heavy rumble surrounding him in a blanket of noise. He loves this, he thinks he always will – nothing excites him like this does, not anymore. The speed, the feel of the ground just few short centimetres under him, the feel of Fenrir just devouring the distance... Though not as life threateningly risky to him as it would be to a normal human, it still carries that hint of danger that so few things still do.

In moments like these, when he's going too fast, when he's riding on the edge of recklessness, when there is a risk of him crashing any moment... Of course if Fenrir did crash, he'd probably walk out of it unscathed, but it would still hurt like hell.

It's probably not healthy to like the idea, but he does. Maybe it makes him an adrenaline junkie like Tifa thought. Maybe it makes him suicidal like Reeve once posited. Cloud doesn't care.

It makes him feel alive.

Or... it used to.

Cloud pulls Fenrir to a halt on the edge of an old mining site. Around it the plains are covered in grass, the old nature finally returning into the area, but below the ground is still sandy and barren. ShinRa's fingerprints are still pretty visible there, not just in the mining site itself, but in the machinery left behind. Lot of it's rusted over and couple of the vehicles have things actually growing on them and inside them.

Abandoned, when ShinRa fell, when Mako ran out, and they no longer had the fuel for older types of engines.

Cloud leans in to look. The bottom of the mining site is filling up with water now – there's already several feet there, slowly accumulated over the years. Couple more decades, and it would turn into a pond, maybe even a lake if it went on long enough.

It's a distraction of a distraction now. Cloud has always had the tendency of wandering during his deliveries – though he'll take the delivery to it's destination at top speed, afterwards he takes his time. There's no hurry back after all, and out here is sometimes just better than back there.

That, Cloud knows, is avoidance, flat and simple. When he lived in Seventh Heaven he used to do it all the times, sometimes for days on end, though back when he hadn't been able to actually pin down a reason for his own actions. Well, hadn't wanted to, really.

Kicking the stand down, Cloud dismounts his bike and then pushes his goggles up. Stretching a little, he peers around in the grassy plains, taking in the vast space. Then he looks at the ravine, which cuts into the plains like a scar, wondering what ShinRa had found there. Not Mako, and no Materia, the place didn't have that feel. Metal maybe.

The area is still a little misshapen with the displaced earth piled up in hills all around the ravine. Some of the hills are still bare sand and dirt on top, but most are growing grass, and he can hear the birds and other animals that have taken residence there, finding shelter in the niches and holes ShinRa had left behind.

Usually Cloud can take no small amount of pleasure in it, in seeing nature take back the land like this. Usually he can spend hours on places like these, just looking around and taking it all in. Now...

Running a hand over his face Cloud looks around. It's all still... nice. It's nice to see this, see places recovering. It's comforting.

But he's not really comforted.

Really, all this makes him feel is a little lonely and vaguely homesick.

"Damnit," he murmurs and crouches down, running hands over his face.

All this and all the time in the world to explore it and take it in and just enjoy the silence and space and all he wants to do is go back home.

He knows Vincent isn't expecting him back the same way Tifa used to, gripping her phone and making displeased faces at him when he finally appears – Vincent doesn't worry like she did. He probably doesn't even care, wouldn't care, if Cloud just wandered off and didn't appear for a week or two.

And yet Cloud just wants to go back home to him.

Funny, how after all this time waiting for something to go wrong, it's him who ruins things.

But maybe it always was him, ruining things.

* * *

Cloud goes back home that same day, arriving at Edge late that evening – and Vincent isn't there.

It's... jarring.

Cloud expected to find him there. Vincent is always there when he comes back home – not precisely welcoming, sometimes he doesn't so much as look up when Cloud arrives but he's _there_. Only now he isn't. The apartment is dark, and silent, and there is no smell of food wafting about.

Cloud is early, he didn't call ahead – and Vincent isn't home.

Scratching at his neck where the grime of travel sticks to his skin, Cloud scowls at himself. What was he expecting, for Vincent to just stop existing when he wasn't looking and just sit around, not doing anything, until he got there to re-start his life?

"Tch," he mutters to himself and then heads into the bathroom to wash, feeling strangely bitter – though about what, he's not sure. For his own expectations, for the knowledge how stupid it is to have said expectations... or how hollow it feels now to return to an empty, dark house?

None and all of the above maybe.

Why it is that after all these years, after getting his shit together with Tifa, why... why is he still such an idiot about things like these?

Vincent doesn't come back while he showers and isn't there by the time Cloud is finished and with mounting unease Cloud changes into clean clothes and just sits in the kitchen for a while. He glances at the fridge and considers a beer but then leaves it in the fridge and looks at his phone instead. No calls, no messages.

Would it be pathetic to call? Would it be more pathetic to send a message?

For a moment Cloud hesitates over the decision before finally pushing the phone back to his pocket. Then he does what he never does when he's feeling like this.

He heads out for Seventh Heaven.

* * *

Vincent is there. Cloud eyes him from the doorway with mingled surprise and relief and confusion, watching Vincent sitting by the bar, nursing what looks like cup of coffee. Tifa is there too, chatting with him, smiling a familiar looking smile at him. She looks happy – Vincent Cloud doesn't know about, he has his back on him.

And then he doesn't.

Vincent looks over his shoulder, his eyes finding Cloud instantly. Cloud stops himself from waving like an idiot, and instead steps forward while Tifa straightens up with surprise.

"Well you're a sight for sore eyes," Tifa says. "And back early too."

"Am I?" Cloud asks, looking at Vincent.

Vincent looks back, unblinking for a moment. Then something about the line of his shoulders eases, though Cloud only sees it because he's looking for it. What is it, though? Disappointment? Resignation? Is he let down?

Should've Cloud stayed away longer?

"Well pull up a chair, stranger," Tifa laughs and pats the bar. "I'll get you a beer."

"Glass of red wine for me, please, Tifa," Vincent adds and pushes his empty coffee cup away. He looks away from Cloud, to the chair beside him, and slowly Cloud takes seat. "Easy delivery?" he asks.

Cloud isn't sure what he's supposed to feel right now. Guilt? Awkwardness? Embarrassment? Maybe. He usually takes his time, after all, and Vincent is smart enough to have figured out that it really shouldn't take him that long. Which means he also knows that he came back early intentionally. Did he guess the reason?

"It was fine," Cloud says finally and looks away, feeling like an idiot. Maybe the reason why Vincent has never said anything about his deliveries taking so long was because he enjoyed the time alone. Maybe Cloud has now messed that up. Damnit.

Tifa brings them their drinks, smiling as she places them in front of them. "There you go, on Cloud's tab."

"Cheers," Cloud says, and takes a swig. Vincent glances at him, frowning just a little, and Cloud knows he's probably showing all sort of warning signs to him, drinking too fast, too deep.

He'll drink this one and then head home, Cloud decides. Let Vincent have his day out. Yeah.

Tifa looks between them, tilting her head a bit to the side. She looks at Cloud, arching a single eyebrow. "Did something happen out there?"

Cloud sets the beer down, a little reluctantly. "Nah, it was fine," He says and then, because he has to say something more or the silence will strangle him, he adds, "Saw one of ShinRa's old mining sites – it's overrun with plants."

"That's nice, isn't it?" Tifa asks and then leans in. "Where was it?"

Cloud tells her and she prods him along just enough for Cloud to keep talking, even while Vincent doesn't say much anything. Cloud isn't sure he's even listening, if he cares. Probably doesn't, though it's always hard to say, with Vincent.

Once more Cloud has to wonder why Vincent is even there. The man is so hard to read and Cloud has never been muster up the balls to ask. They live together, practically in each other's back pockets, and Cloud doesn't mind, he very much doesn't mind it at all, but... why?

Sometimes Cloud knows it's what Vincent wants. He doesn't know why, but Vincent chose it – they chose an apartment together, for Cetra's sake, that implies things. And yet, knowing that never takes away the uneasy feeling that one mistake might take it all away.

Vincent has always been so transient. One wrong move, and he'd be gone. Wouldn't he?

Which makes wanting him so much harder and so much more dangerous.

Cloud chatters with Tifa about nothing while not looking at Vincent, while trying not to destroy his pint in a nervously too tight grip and wishes desperately that he'd stayed out in the plains a bit longer.

* * *

They walk home together because what else would they do – they live together. And even as Cloud is once more beaten mentally black and blue by the uncertainty of _why_ they live together... there's no escaping it. They do, and they go home together, and that's that.

Vincent is silent as they go, watching the street advertisements and signs and the few drunken people passing by. He doesn't seem annoyed or uneasy or anxious or anything, but Cloud keeps imagining irritation where there is none, keeps thinking he's tense, bothered.

He almost asks.

But if he's good at something, it's not voicing the things that probably should be voiced.

And then Vincent breaks the silence. "Was it really fine?"

"What?" Cloud asks, looking up sharply.

"The delivery. You're back early," Vincent points out and glances at him. "Was it fine?"

Cloud inhales and then deflates. "Yeah it was fine," he says. "I just... wanted to come home early, is all."

Vincent watches him from the corner of his eyes and then nods. "How do you feel about steaks?"

"Generally positive?" Cloud asks, tilting his head.

"I bought some earlier. I meant them for tomorrow, but... they could make for a later dinner," Vincent says. "If you haven't eaten yet."

Cloud stares at him for a moment, trying to put that into some sort of context. Then he thinks about the times he came home from a delivery or some sort of mission, and there was dinner ready, or almost ready, or Vincent was just starting to make it and...

He looks down at the ground, blinking at it in sudden confusion. Confusion and maybe... something like hope. "Steaks sound good," he says finally.

"Good," Vincent agrees, and they make the rest of the way home in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided that two awkward introverts having the most awkward domestic romance is a thing I want more of, so, turning this into a multi chapter story.


	3. Chapter 3

Something is different. It's subtle, almost indiscernible, but it's there. There's a faint undercurrent of tension in the air. And Vincent thinks it's coming from Cloud.

Cloud isn't acting any differently – and yet he is. He hasn't taken any deliveries in a while for one, and though he can go sometimes weeks between jobs, this seems different – this seems somehow more permanent than a mere break. At the same time he goes out more, to the church ruins or just to wander around the ruins of Midgar. He's in Edge more – and at home less.

Vincent can't pinpoint the reason for the change. Cloud doesn't seem annoyed or displeased or really troubled... and yet Vincent gets the impression that the man might be avoiding him. He's there every morning for breakfast and he comes back on time every evening and they eat dinner together and it's normal – but it's… different.

Vincent doesn't think he did anything differently, nothing changed in his behaviour or habits – so whatever it is, it's probably all in Cloud's head. Again. And normally Vincent wouldn't be worried because experience tells him this happens from time to time and Cloud usually sorts himself out sooner or later, he's done it every other time before now...

Before now, though, they weren't living together. Before now they weren't this close.

"Is there something wrong?" Vincent asks finally, when the days stretch on and answer isn't forthcoming.

"No, of course not," Cloud says distractedly as he eases his boots on and then, "I'll be back later," before leaving Vincent eying the closed door in his wake, wondering.

He didn't do anything differently, he's sure of that. So why does it feel like he's done something wrong here?

* * *

"That's Cloud," Tifa says, utterly unhelpful, while serving out his now daily cup of coffee. "He's always been like that, you know."

Vincent hums in dissatisfied agreement and accepts the cup. She's drawn a flower in the cream. "He wasn't like this a week ago," he then comments, and thankfully it doesn't come out sounding quite as petulant as it sounds in his head, true though it is.

Tifa sighs and leans her chin onto her palm, staring at him. Vincent doesn't squirm, though he feels as if he ought to. Tifa has grown... perceptive as she's grown older. Wiser too. Her eyes are piercing now.

"You know," she says, tilting her head. "Cloud second guessing himself and fretting and worrying about everything, that I was expecting. It was actually kind of surprising it didn't happen sooner. But you, you didn't expect it from."

"I'm not fretting," Vincent says, more to the coffee cup than to her.

"No, but you are bothered," Tifa says, in tones of dawning realisation. "Huh."

Vincent frowns at the coffee, at the flower. It has layers of darker and lighter cream, zigzagging around the centre in five sharp petals. Overall a simple design, he'd watched her make it, it had taken her no longer than maybe twenty seconds. It's still, relatively, impressive.

He's avoiding the subject.

"May I ask..." Vincent starts and then frowns. No, he can't ask that. He was on a whole different continent when Tifa and Cloud had finally, officially, broken up, and even there he'd felt the echoes of awkward tension and pain. Having too much experience with such things, he knows better than to enquire.

"Why it didn't work between Cloud and me?" Tifa guesses, and Vincent glances up to her to see her reaction. Her face is calm, she's even smiling, though her eyes have a tinge of old regret.

It's been years – but some part of her is still in love with Cloud Strife.

"It just didn't work," Tifa says. "We tried. I tried, he tried, in his own way – there was just a whole lot of trying. But... Cloud couldn't become what I wanted him to be, and I couldn't be what he needed. I tried, probably more than him, but I couldn't. And Cloud... He'd been forced through enough changes, I think."

Vincent watches the regret and pain and understanding and final resignation race across her face, watches the bittersweet smile bloom and fade, watches her shake her head nostalgically at old memories. It's a lot of memories too, Vincent knows. They'd _tried_ for many years, after all.

For a moment he wonders if they ever...

Another question to never ask, probably.

"In the end, we just made everything more and more difficult for each other," Tifa admits. "Because we tried to bend over backwards for each other and just ended up hurting and feeling alone, even when we were together."

Well that had been obvious for everyone with eyes. Vincent had even heard Cid and Yuffie talk about it, commiserate over it in tones of sympathy, and those two weren't exactly emotionally sophisticated.

Tifa glances at him and smiles. "Yeah, I know," she agrees with his expression. "And trust me, we weren't blind to it, we weren't stupid about it. We just... wanted to make it work, so we kept trying beyond the point where it made sense."

Vincent sighs with her, feeling old regrets echo with hers. He'd kept on trying beyond the point where it made sense too, once. At least with Tifa and Cloud, no one had died.

He doesn't know what to do with that thought, or the implications of what Tifa is saying. In the end he simply nods and sips his coffee and looks around in the restaurant. It's full of regulars – Vincent knows most of them by name now, though he has only talked in passing to one or two.

"You know, when we were kids, Cloud was in love with Sephiroth."

Vincent almost chokes on the coffee, turning sharply to Tifa who lets out a low chuckle at the sight of him. She hands him a napkin and he glares at her over it, making her chuckle again.

"Hero worship," Vincent comments.

"Mm-hmm," she agrees and grins. "But also a very real very teenage crush on a hot guy he idolized. It wasn't until Marlene and Denzel got to that age that I got the right perspective to look back on it, but yeah... Cloud had a lot of reasons for joining ShinRa back then."

"Tch," Vincent answers, dappling at his lips and then folding the napkin in half. "You shouldn't be telling me this."

"He never will tell you, Vincent," Tifa points out and shakes her head. She pushes away from the bar, straightening up and stretching. "Cloud doesn't like making the first hit – have you noticed that? He's always been better at counter attacking. Funnily enough, that applies to just about everything he does."

* * *

Vincent thinks on it for a long while, cataloguing each thought and revelation by its importance and then mentally tackling them one by one. Thing is, that too is avoidance.

He didn't actually learn anything new about Cloud from his talk with Tifa. Cloud is not, exactly, complicated person when it comes to these things, and though Vincent hasn't spend prolonged time observing the situation, Cloud had existed in the peripheral edge of his awareness for years. Some insights were rather unavoidable.

Cloud's problems with Tifa, their inability to find a common ground, Cloud's issues with emotions and his difficulties in both expressing those issues and the emotions... Vincent has known about all of that for years. It's just the baseline of Cloud's personality. Vincent even has his theories on the accumulated amount of abuse, use, and misuse that had caused it all, but...

But none of that matters here and now.

Cloud is not a bullet point list of problems to be dealt with. And maybe that's where they had made the biggest mistake in their approach to each other – somewhere along the way, they'd started seeing their issues as problems to be tackled and overcome – or begrudgingly compromised with when no other option worked.

From Vincent's experience, people just do not work like that. Handling a problem and compromising with issues, however important, is always secondary to simple acceptance. And perhaps it's cruel, but then Vincent can be a cruel person – but Tifa, he thinks, could never accept what Cloud is on the most basic fundamental level. And neither did Cloud, really, when he was trying to be with her. They neither could come to terms with it.

That he was simply imperfect and completely human.

Instead she, and perhaps most everyone in Cloud's life, and Cloud himself most of all, had always seen him as damaged. Something to be healed and fixed, something that had to recover, to _be well_ again. And true enough, Cloud had been damaged, no one who went through what he did could come out of it perfectly whole. But that was then.

The damage is scarred over now, and no amount of balm will make it go away.

Vincent pauses in his musings to look up as the door opens. Cloud enters their apartment quietly, calling, "I'm home," almost silently under his breath before closing the door behind him.

Vincent tilts his head, almost resting it against the backrest of the armchair in order to see him. Cloud is taking off his shoes, leaning to the wall as he does and his every motion is careful. Instead of just kicking his boots fall in a clatter, he eases them off by hand and sets them down, almost soundless.

It's... a little unnerving.

"Welcome back," Vincent says and Cloud almost falls over, looking up at him. Their eyes meet and Cloud looks a little rattled – was it the first time Vincent had said it? Perhaps.

"I – thanks," Cloud says after a while and looks down. There's a beat of tension, of hesitation – then he resumes taking his other boot off, setting it down beside the first.

He has no shopping with him, he's carrying nothing but the clothes on his back. Judging by the dirt under his fingernails, he's been to the church ruins. For a moment Vincent wonders if going there is painful for him, if it is cathartic.

The fresh water pond there no longer has any curative properties, though it is the cleanest, clearest water in Edge. The only proof it ever had any power is the fact that the flowers still grow there – the flowers which, they now know, don't grow anywhere else. The Ancient Lilies, they're called now.

Cloud walks to the living room, hesitating just split of a second before going for the kitchen. Even without looking Vincent knows he gets a beer – he doesn't even need the telltale sound of the aluminium can set against the counter to know. The atmosphere is enough.

For a moment Vincent leans his head against the backrest of the armchair, closing his eyes. Behind him, the snick of the can being popped open echoes in the kitchen.

They do lot of drinking, for two men who are physically incapable of getting drunk.

He listens to Cloud drink, listens to him inhale, swallow, sigh, all of it quiet, all of it somehow tense. He's almost hyper aware of the other man – if he concentrated little more he'd be able to smell Cloud outside the familiar scent of gas and oil, he could probably hear Cloud's heart beat too.

And there it is, a faint reverberation of thumping inside Cloud as his heart works. It's surprisingly steady, all things considered.

Vincent opens his eyes and then glances backwards. Cloud is looking out of the window, slight frown on his face as he looks up and at the shadow of Midgar.

"Why didn't you move to the farm?" Vincent asks.

Cloud blinks and turns to him, the light coming outside casting pale trails on his face. "Huh?" he asks.

"The chocobo farm," Vincent clarifies. "You pretty much own it now, don't you?"

Cloud eyes him for a moment and then looks away, taking a sip of his beer. "I don't know," he then admits. "It didn't seem right, what with Bill's family still living there and all. Plus, my job is here."

Vincent arches an eyebrow at the somewhat flimsy excuse.

He's been wondering about it, on and off, for a while now. Of all the places Cloud has ever lived in for more than few days at the time, the chocobo farm is, Vincent thinks, the one place where Cloud would've been the most distracted. At a farm you never ran out of things to do, after all, and Cloud is one of those people who genuinely enjoys animal husbandry.

In his estimation, Cloud's chances of actual happiness would've been highest there, as far as being busy and active went anyway. He could've simply lost himself into tending and breeding chocobos – the one rare activity that had brought him true respite during their quest to save the planet from Sephiroth.

But he hadn't – the most he ever stayed at the farm were few weeks during the season and that was all. Instead he'd settled down in Edge, first with Tifa, then after couple awkward years spent in Costa del Sol, he got his little apartment. He preferred living in _cities_. Places full of people. And that, Vincent muses, is telling.

And yet... Cloud seems to do a terrible job at actually co-existing with people.

So is it too much, living with Vincent?

Cloud makes an inquisitive sound and Vincent looks up. "Why the interest in the farm?" Cloud asks.

"Just thinking," Vincent says and then, thinking, gets up. "Do we have any red wine left?"

"You'd know better than me," Cloud says with a shrug. Vincent walks past him on his way to check and Cloud doesn't quite move to avoid him, doesn't quite flinch – but he does shift his weight slightly. Vincent glances at his feet and, sure enough, Cloud planted both feet down, shoulder width.

He probably doesn't even know he's doing it – but he's taken a very subtle fighting stance. It's not aggressive – but it is there.

Interesting, Vincent thinks, and gets the bottle out. Cloud watches him silently and barely relaxes enough to have another drink before Vincent turns to face him. Cloud frowns at him, tucks his chin in just a little. Another subconscious not quite fighting move – trying to protect his throat.

Why does he think they're going to fight?

Vincent sips his wine, staring at him curiously. Cloud frowns at him, confused and conflicted and slightly defensive. Vincent takes in the room, their positions – he's not cornering Cloud, the blond has every opportunity to leave. And still... Cloud looks cornered.

After moment of thought, Vincent steps back. "Are you hungry?" he asks.

"Not really," Cloud says, watching him oddly. "Vincent?"

"Yes?" Vincent asks, patiently.

Cloud opens his mouth and then closes it again slowly. He looks confused and eventually shakes his head. "Never mind," he says and sips his beer, looking away.

"I'm not going to fight you," Vincent says.

That makes Cloud start slightly, makes him snap his eyes up. "What?"

"I'm not going to fight you," Vincent says again. "I don't know why you expect me to, but I'm not going to. This is our home."

It's... not the right thing to say. Rather than reassured, Cloud looks completely baffled. "What?" he asks again. "I don't expect you to – what?"

So, not that then. But if it's not that, then what is it? Vincent carefully keeps himself from frowning, even as he too is infected with the frustrating hint of confusion. Cloud is showing every signs of fight or flight, and he _isn't_ expecting a fight?

"Apologies," Vincent says eventually, at loss what else to say that won't possibly make it worse. "I misread the situation."

"I – yeah, um," Cloud says, tilting his head. "Why would I expect you to fight me? We've never fought. Not really."

We've never lived together before, either, Vincent thinks. he considers pointing out Cloud's body language – but that has the chance of escalating the situation, making Cloud more defensive, perhaps even leading to the argument he is still rather convinced Cloud is expecting. "No, not really," he agrees instead. "I'm sorry – it's nothing."

Cloud obviously doesn't believe it, watching him uneasily. "Is there something wrong?"

Vincent almost sighs, but covers it by having a drink. "No," he says and turns away. "I'm... thinking too much. Let's just have a drink in peace."

"... Yeah, okay," Cloud says, dubious, and Vincent almost hangs his head.

Well, he thinks as they settle down to have the most awful, tension filled night in they've had so far. Maybe he was a little hasty in his judgement of Tifa. And to be fair, she probably did accept Cloud in the end – and that's probably why they finally accepted failure.

Acceptance and understanding, it seems, are two wholly different things.

* * *

Vincent doesn't usually go out at night. Though Edge is becoming as much of a sleepless metropolis as it's ruined predecessor, it's not quite there yet, and though the main streets are well lit during the night, the light poles are at considerable distance from each other and the alleyways aren't lit at all. There are plenty shadows.

Usually, Vincent is more than capable of making use of shadows like that – but in Edge... in Edge he doesn't want to disappear.

He's lived in Edge for months now, lived with Cloud Strife, gotten a new apartment with Cloud Strife. Though he isn't yet as much of a permanent fixture in the city's culture and image, he is already recognised and known – people even greet him out on the streets, wave at him when they see him, smile at him even when he doesn't smile back.

It's his home, now, and even when the sun sets and the lights dim, he doesn't want to hide away from it.

It's a milestone of personal growth, he thinks with myriad of wry amusement and cynical nostalgia for the philosophers and psychiatrists of old. He used to hide away – he'd hid away for years. And though it wasn't exactly hiding as much as it was... simply living away from society, he is not so proud that he can't admit there was a reason why he preferred Lucrecia's cave.

People look at him, and they see things. Sometimes he can guess the things they see – the cape, the eyes, the arm. The Valentine family with its strange genetic quirks is gone, dwindled down to just him, and nowadays there is no comparison for his red eyes. Matched with the rest, with the persona he hadn't quite meant to favour but had ended up keeping up anyway... he has a certain look.

And he, like Cloud, like Tifa, like the rest of the Heroes Who Saved the World, has a reputation. Only his is more mysterious and shady and unfathomable, because he has never stepped in front of a crowd to explain, and certainly hasn't settled down enough for people to humanise his image. He'd remained... other.

Until now.

Whether he thought himself above or below humanity before, he can't even tell anymore. Perhaps it was little bit of both. He was too much of a human experimentation – too much of a human wreck – to even want to blend in, never mind actually making the attempt.

Funny, how in the end that isn't even the issue. It isn't as if Tifa or Cloud had tried to _blend_ in.

They just wanted to live their lives where they wanted to live them.

And now, so does Vincent.

Edge is a ramshackle cluster of tragedies, both human and architectural, but he likes it. It doesn't try to cover up the horrors of their past, doesn't try to pretend that everything is alright. The people are flawed and broken and healed all wrong – they're scarred and damaged. The amount of people who have the Meteor tattooed somewhere on their body is a little alarming.

Vincent isn't quite at that level. He covers his hand and keeps his clothes tidy and he doesn't show his ruin to the world, doesn't even show it to cloud. Some part of him is still ashamed, though of what, he's not sure anymore. His damage, perhaps. His failure, possibly. His inability to quite move on, definitely.

Taking a seat on a park bench, Vincent breathes in the dry air of Edge and then exhales slowly. He's sitting just on the edge of the beam of light of nearby light pole and he knows, if someone came by, they might see his eyes glow. Though not as bright as the SOLDIER glow, his eyes still emit the light of the Mako infused. And perhaps, he's a little ashamed of that too.

He doesn't think he hates himself anymore, though, so there is that at least.

It's just little past midnight now. The light pollution of the city makes it hard to see the stars – the streets around their apartment are darker, which makes watching the night sky easier. But he can see the shadow of Midgar.

They are always staring up at the shadow of Midgar, aren't they?

Vincent looks at the remains of buildings, the way the metal juts up as if to rake the sky, and then he looks down. It's not just that they're looking up at it – they are _in_ Midgar's shadow. There's no escaping it, here. It seems a little masochistic now that he thinks about it.

"Vincent."

Cloud stops at the edge of his vision, at the edge of the light beam. Vincent looks at him and just watches him for a moment. Cloud has black sweater vest on, dark trousers, boots. No sword, but he still looks a little like an apparition from several years ago, like any moment now they might head off to catch the Highwind, to keep running, to keep fighting.

Cloud's eyes glow in the darkness – or they do before he breaks eye contact to look away, scratching at his neck, the epitome of awkward attempt of trying to not look uncertain. "I don't want to fight you either."

 Vincent blinks slowly. He can... sort of see where it comes from. But it is unexpected. "Well," he says. "That's... good then."

Cloud nods, glances at him, waits, and then sighs. Shaking his head he walks over, his heavy boots surprisingly quiet in the dark silence of the night. When he slumps down beside Vincent on the old weather worn park bench, it's anything but silent.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I did or said something stupid, didn't I?"

"... why do you think that?" Vincent asks, as they look up at the sky and not at each other.

Cloud shrugs and doesn't answer. Vincent waits, and the silence stretches, but it doesn't seem that Cloud actually has an answer for him. Alright.

"Perhaps," Vincent says slowly. "Perhaps we should've made it a little clearer, what we're expecting to happen. And what we're not expecting."

Cloud swallows – it's terribly obvious and telling. "Yeah?" he more asks than states.

And now Vincent has to actually come up with an answer first, wonderful. Taking a breath, he looks down at the street. "Cloud," he says. "We... we're similar."

"A bit, yeah," Cloud agrees.

Vincent looks at him. His expression is still nervous, but he isn't surprised – no, rather... he isn't aware. There is no understanding, no realization, nothing. Cloud doesn't _know_. Well, perhaps that explains things too, Vincent thinks and leans back a little.

He thinks he's a little relieved for Cloud's sake.

"I want to be here," Vincent says finally. "I want to be with you."

Cloud's eyes widen and for a moment he only stares. Then he looks away, catching himself staring, and then he's very still, staring at the street – or at nothing, rather. "That's... that's fine," Cloud struggles to say.

"Is it?" Vincent asks, watching him in closely.

Cloud sends him a look that isn't as much cutting as it is _telling_. "Yeah, it's is."

Vincent studies him for a moment and then sighs. They're talking cross purposes again, he suspects, but perhaps it's the best they can do, right now. "Alright," he says and looks up at the sky, half hidden in the glare of the street lamp. "That's fine then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introspective nonsense; the chapter

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write something quiet and domestic


End file.
